


In Camera

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, M/M, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-21
Updated: 2006-07-21
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:56:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: A historical perspective on the private life of Harry James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Defeater of Voldemort, Wizard-Muggle Chancellor, b. 1980 - d. 2090.





	In Camera

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Written for the beautiful [Nimori](http://nimori.livejournal.com/)'s [Reversathon 2005](http://community.livejournal.com/reversathon) request. She asked for Harry/Snape/Sirius with hatesex, spanking, sex magic, courtship, and first times.  


* * *

"The vault is an historical find. Everything dates before the wizard-Muggle merge: Diaries, obsolete magical objects, a whole stack of letters -- even remnants of potions' ingredients!" 

"Ingredients? Honestly? Potions haven't been made manually in a couple hundred years, at least." 

" _Exactly_. That's what makes them such a find. Well, that, and the people it looks like they belonged to." 

"Oh yeah? So who's so important that it was worth dragging me awake at five in the morning?" 

"God, have some sense of levity, you daft twit. We think they belonged to Harry Potter and Severus Snape." 

"You're bloody having me on! Letters...what, to each other? But their hatred is famous; I thought they couldn't stand the sight of one another." 

"That's what I've always thought, too, but these things might just throw the old evidence into question. Snape definitely taught Potter; that's confirmed by school records and trial evidence, but they apparently worked on some sort of secret project together. And it's not just letters, either; I've hardly had a chance to look at what's been found, but most of what I've seen involves their involvement with a third man, Sirius Black." 

"Who?" 

"I'm not completely sure. I think he had some sort of known connection to Potter, but who didn't in those days?" 

 

***

_Record No. 5H - Excerpt from the working journal of Severus Snape, dated approximately mid-July 1999_

Preliminary research indicates that the boy's notions are not completely improbable. 

As far as experiments go, this is the most ill-advised venture I've ever considered, which is certainly saying something. Still, I owed his father a wizard's debt, and now I owe the son one, too. I certainly do not consider letting both Potters save my life high points in my existence. Perhaps this will finally get both of them out of my hair forever. 

_(Ed. Note: The next line is illegible -- text has been erased by charm usage and scratched out with ink.)_

What in blazes am I doing? With the Dark Lord dead, one would think necromancy would not be high on my list of priorities. 

 

***

_Records No. 2A - 2ZZZ - Transcripts from a Pensieve, an enchanted basin, usually stone or marble, used for the collection and organization of the owner's memories, banned from private use during the Memory Charm Reforms of 2235. The memories in this Pensieve are_ ca. _1999-2003 and belonged to Harry James Potter (a.k.a., the Boy-Who-Lived, Saviour of the Wizarding World, Wizard-Muggle Unification Chancellor,_ b. _1980 -_ d. _2090)._

_Please note that these are the full, unedited transcripts. They contain strong language, descriptions of illegal practices and explicit homosexual acts. Edited transcripts are available for distribution to educational institutions._

 

***

_Excerpt from Record No. 2M_

Harry Potter enters the office of Severus Snape. Based on journal entries that corroborate the events in this Pensieve memory, the light summer robes worn by Mr Potter that are not standard issue for Hogwarts students of that time period, and the historical records that indicate Mr Potter resided with his relatives, Petunia and Vernon Dursley ( _Background reading:_ Surrey Christmas Massacre (The Magical Crisis of 1997 Escalates _, Tirian Trumpkin, Obscurus Hans Zell, 2285_ ), during school summer holidays, we may conclude that Mr Potter _(Ed. Note - For readability, Mr Potter will be referred to as 'Harry'.)_ is approximately eighteen or nineteen years old at the time of this meeting. Severus Snape _(Ed. Note - For readability and familiarity's sake, Mr Snape will be referred to as 'Snape' for the remainder of this record.)_ is most likely thirty-nine years old. 

Harry approaches Snape's desk and peers over the man's shoulder, examining parchments scattered across the surface. He lifts one sheet, puts it down, lifts up another, reads it, and lets out a long sigh. 

"How long before we can do the ritual?" 

Up to this point, Snape has seemingly not noticed Harry's presence and, only now, lifts his head to face him. "I am still working out the details, which you would know if you bothered to read any of our correspondence instead of replying with nonsensical diatribes that malign my work, teaching abilities, and personal hygiene, then announce your imminent, uninvited arrival." 

Harry sighs again and lets the parchment he is holding flutter down on top of the others. He then circles around and sits across from Snape, propping his feet up on the desk's edge. Snape gives him a disdainful glance, but Harry's feet do not move. "I've told you that as soon as he's back, I'll be out of your hair forever. We both will be, and I'm sure Sirius ( _Sirius Black, b. 1960 - d. 1996 & 2069, Harry Potter's godfather_) will be as glad to be rid of you as I will be." 

"I still do not understand why I was the only one who could help you with this venture." Snape goes back to writing on his parchment. 

"Because," says Harry, pausing to scratch his ear, "you owe me a life debt and everyone who claims to love me says I should let go and move on. They keep telling me that what I want to do is dangerous and will take me on a path that I'll never be able to turn back from. Unlike them, you don't care if I'm mentally sound." 

Snape does not look up from his writing. "I have never claimed you were mentally sound in the first place, Potter. You do realise what these rituals entail, correct?" 

With an audible thump, Harry drags his feet off the desk and snorts. "Yeah, 'course I do. Hermione gave me the sex, drugs, and rock and roll lecture before I ever talked to you. Well, the sex, drugs, and blood-letting within a sacred circle lecture." He shrugs. "If it means getting Sirius back, I'll have sex with you...I'll just lie back and think of England. Besides, it's not like I'm a virgin or any-- wait. _You're_ not, are you?" 

At that, Snape does lift his head and one of his eyebrows. 

"Well?" 

"No, I am not a virgin, Potter. For God's sake, I'm the same age as your parents. Did you think I was living under a rock?" 

Harry smiles widely and shrugs again. "I just figured you wanked till you chafed, thinking about my mum or something. You look like you haven't seen sunlight since you were born...I really never gave a lot of thought to you prowling around for your next lay." 

"This conversation is entirely inappropriate," says Snape, finally laying down his quill. 

"Yeah, sure, it's completely out of line. Especially what with us having to fuck and all. So, when does that start, anyway?" 

Snape stands and crosses his office, retrieving a standard size six phial from his largest potions' cabinet, which he hands to Harry. "Now, actually, though I don't need to be involved yet. I will require some of your semen for the potion that will form the _circi animus_." 

"Good enough. Do you have a lav in here, or do I need to go down the hall?" 

"Mr Potter, with...as you so succinctly put it...us having to fuck and all," Snape says with a pinched expression, "I see no reason that you could not do it here." 

Harry tilts his head to one side. "So, you want me to make a show of it? I suppose I can handle that." 

Snape does not reply, but instead sits in his desk chair again. Once seated, he watches Harry, hands folded on top of his desk. 

"I'm going to put this down and aim for my belly," Harry tells Snape, placing the phial on the desk near a stack of parchment. "It'll be easier for me that way." 

"Do as you will." 

Harry pulls off his outer robe, revealing Muggle clothing underneath. He tugs his short-sleeved shirt up, leaving his bare stomach exposed and unfastens his flies, pulling out his flaccid penis. 

"Don't worry, it won't take me much to get worked up," Harry says as he begins to masturbate. "Do you mind if I talk? It always helps me when I have an audience." 

Snape leans forward so slightly, it's almost unnoticeable. "I believe this marks the first time you've voluntarily asked me permission for anything. At this moment, hearing you speak is unlikely to bother me any more than you remaining silent." 

"Ah, good." Harry bites his lower lip. "Usually, when I'm pulling off, I do it in the mornings, in the shower. I don't usually draw it out or anything, since I'm half-asleep and I just want to get things over with so I can take a piss after." 

"Charming." 

At that, Harry moans and begins rubbing himself with longer strokes, shutting his eyes tightly. "You know, you've got a fucking sexy voice, Snape. I probably won't have a problem if I don't have to look at you, as long as you keep talking." Harry laughs. "Fuck, maybe you can read potions ingredients. It's probably the only way I'll -- _oh_ \-- I'll ever remember them. Anyway, I usually wank in the shower, only I didn't this morning, so I'm dying to get off. It's so funny, the shit I think about when my hand is wrapped around my cock...I think about fucking everyone I know, practically, flipping them onto their stomachs or them wrapping their legs around my neck while I drive into them over and over. But...b-- but mostly...oh, fucking _God_ , yes...I think about Sirius." 

"You think about your godfather fucking you?" Snape is no longer trying to conceal his interest; Harry's eyes are shut and Snape is staring directly at Harry's groin. 

"Constantly. I wonder...wonder if he's going to be sickened by that...wonder if I'll ever tell him that I've thought about sucking a dead man's prick for the past three years." Harry's eyes open and Snape looks at his face, watching as Harry's mouth drops open. "Though obviously he's not d-- dead in my fantasies...ah, fuck, gonna come." 

Harry shudders and ejaculates over his fist and stomach, then exhales loudly. 

"He won't be," says Snape quietly. 

"Won't be what?" Harry asks as he picks up the phial again and tries to collect his semen by dragging it along his abdomen. 

"Won't be sickened. This spell...if everything is translated correctly...will link you in a way akin to marriage. As long as his feelings for you were strong and true, they will naturally morph into romantic love. And no matter what I think about Sirius Black, I believe he thought he loved you." 

Harry wipes his hand along the leg of his trousers and hands the phial to Snape. "And what about you?" 

"He loathes me," replies Snape as he corks the glass container and places it in his desk "You loathe me. My involvement is ideal because there is no love among us, so once the spell is complete, Black will be alive, he'll feel nothing but perfect love for you, and you for him. It's sickening." 

"As long as everything goes smoothly." 

"Indeed." 

"I suppose I'll wait until you contact me for next time. Just let me know if you run into any trouble. You know, it's funny," Harry says, laughing as he stands to put on his outer robe again, "I know spunk is used to create life and all that, but I didn't really think mine would make a full-grown man." 

"He's already made, Mr Potter. Just...dead." 

"Yeah, but you know what I mean." 

Snape rolls his eyes and stands, opening the door to his office. "You have been around magic long enough that its possibilities should no longer come as a surprise to you." 

"Maybe. But you don't need to be such a bastard about it." Harry straightens his robes and leaves. 

 

***

_Manifest of Records Recovered from a previously unknown vault in 12 Grimmauld Place (London, England). These items are believed to have belonged to or were given to Harry James Potter:_

 

  * One (1) Pensieve - Potter's memories from June 1998 - July 2003 ( _dates approximate_ )  

  * Three (3) leather-bound journals filled with accounts of Potter's work with Parliament, the Ministry of Magic, and foreign governments.  

  * Two (2) spiral-bound notebooks, tested for preservation charms ( _tests positive, cast from a phoenix-core wand_ ). These appear to be Potter's private journals. At first glance, handwriting matches writing in the leather-bound journals, though written in ballpoint pen, not quill and ink.  

  * A stack of two-hundred thirty-five (235) pieces of parchment, bound together and sealed with wax. Seal bears the Hogwarts crest. Parchment contains notes on experimental potions of Severus Snape, performed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from 1998 through 2001.  

  * Fourteen (14) letters addressed to Severus Snape from Harry Potter  

  * Twenty-three (23) letters addressed to Harry Potter from Severus Snape  

  * Ten (10) letters addressed to Severus Snape from Sirius Black  

  * Eight (8) letters addressed to Sirius Black from Severus Snape  

  * One (1) two-way mirror. It seems likely that this was once part of a set of two mirrors, but only one was amongst the other items. This type of mirror was common property for affluent wizards and witches, and used as a method of communication. Tests indicate that this particular mirror has had repair charms cast on it on two separate occasions.  

  * One (1) deluxe professional potions travel kit, all containers opened and used, no completed potions included  

  * One (1) standard size 2 pewter cauldron  

  * One (1) professional-model size 4 solid gold cauldron  

  * Newspaper clippings from spring 1998 to fall 2005. Dates begin one week from Potter's defeat of Lord Voldemort ( _nee_ , Tom Marvolo Riddle) and end one week before Potter's wedding to Hermione Jane Granger-Weasley (b. 1980 - d. 2082) and his appointment as Wizard-Muggle Chancellor for the Ministry of Magic.



_Please note that these documents are currently under investigation by the magical division of the British government, and may not have belonged to Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Sirius Black, Hermione Granger, or any of their descendants or ascendants._

_12 Grimmauld Place was the ancestral home of the Blacks. Sirius Black was the last living descendant of the name and left no heirs; the home thereby defaulted to the Malfoys, Black's closest living relatives via Narcissa Black Malfoy (b. 1963 - d. 2005). Her son, Draco Lucian Malfoy (b. 1980 - d. 2075), inherited the property upon Black's (second) death, but nothing was done with the property until Julian August Malfoy (b. 2992), current Malfoy heir, began to prepare the property for sale._

 

***

_Record No. 6D - Letter written by Harry Potter, addressed to Severus Snape, dated 3 September 1999_

Snape, 

I know you told me to stop writing you stupid letters or whatever big words you used instead of just saying stupid, but I thought you should know that I've been feeling kind of weird since the first time I jerked off in front of you made a contribution to your research. The first time wasn't too bad; I got a headache and thought it was just from the heat. When I got back to my flat, I took a dose of Paracetaserum and went to bed, and when I woke up the next morning everything was fine. So I just forgot it. 

Anyway, the last two times, I've got headaches, too, and they've been worse. I've also been having strange dreams about Sirius and about you, too. Is it just coincidence, something you've been expecting, or something I should be worried about? 

I have the mirror here and all the pieces seem to have made their way back to the frame. Looks perfect, as far as I can see, except for a hairline scratch in the upper-left corner of the glass. 

If everything seems to be on the up and up, I suppose we can meet in Hogsmeade on the twentieth as scheduled and head over to the Ministry our planned spot from there. 

Harry Potter 

 

***

"I think it's all bunk." 

"Hmm?" 

"The Potter stuff. I think it was planted there -- you know, one of those fundamentalist pureblood nutters who still think magical and mundane words should be kept separate." 

"You're not the first to say so." 

"So? What do you think?" 

"It's hard to say, isn't it? I mean, yeah, on one hand, the handwriting matches, everything is in near-perfect condition, there are _memories_ from Potter's point-of-view, a stack of correspondence, and everything fits together really well..." 

"Yeah...a little too perfectly, if you ask me." 

"Mmm, maybe. Of course, conspiracy theories are also your speciality, so maybe the fact that you think it's all bunk means that it's not." 

"You are such a bastard, you know that?" 

"You love it. What are we having for lunch today? Thai?" 

"Yeah, okay. But you're not getting out of this that easily! So, they have all this evidence suddenly pointing to the idea that Potter was a necromancer and a poof --" 

"There's nothing wrong with that." 

"I never said there was! Only...all right, so I like girls, right? If three-hundred years from now, someone suddenly started saying I was secretly in love with some bloke at my job -- say, the arsewipe that always stands right next to me when I'm trying to have a piss -- then I might be a little ticked off!" 

"In three-hundred years, you'll be dead." 

"That's not the point. I just mean...well, he hated that Snape bastard, right? And I looked into that whole Black thing, and all of the evidence from the era seems to support that Black didn't die properly...he just went through some drapery at the old Ministry. So, when he came back, it wasn't a big deal; he'd just been, you know, misplaced or something. Besides, he'd been a fugitive from the law and didn't come back until Potter got his name cleared. The whole curtain thing might have been a bunch of tripe." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah...get this! They thought he killed about a million Muggles and some wizard named Pettigrew, who turned out to have been alive all along, and the one who really killed all those people. Plus, he was accused of conspiring to kill Harry Potter's parents." 

"And now this stuff says Potter brought this person back from the dead in bizarre rituals that involved a professor he hated fucking him." 

"Exactly! Doesn't that sound a little funny to you?" 

"Yeah. Did you know the thing Potter and Snape did...it was an archaic marriage ritual, almost? The way Black died is apparently the only reason it worked; if whoever killed him used the Killing Curse or something, it wouldn't have worked. His death was considered 'unnatural,' whatever that means." 

"Well, that doesn't really matter. It just seems too pat, even with the diaries and everything. I mean, there are plenty of examples of Potter's handwriting everywhere, memories can be faked -- I just think it was all planted there." 

"By?" 

"The Malfoys, obviously." 

"I don't know...I mean, I know that family's a little cracked in the head, but to think they'd want to sabotage everything that's been in the works for hundreds of years--" 

"Something they've always opposed..." 

"Yeah, but..." 

"Listen, Julian Malfoy is as much of a freak as the rest of his family, and his great-great-great-a-million-greats-grandfather _hated_ Potter. School rivalry, sports rivalry, war rivalry, business rivalry, right down the line -- and Potter beat him every time, too. So, Julian is gutting some old property, plants stuff that supposedly belonged to someone who died with the stipulation that no portraits be made in his honour, and died too long ago to tell us anything." 

"So?" 

"So, it's all bunk." 

"The Malfoys _are_ pretty strange. I'm not convinced, though." 

"Well, I suppose we'll get chance enough to rustle through things, right?" 

"Yeah. Stebbins thinks we can get in there as early as next week." 

"That'll be eye-opening." 

"You're telling me!" 

"Hey...heh, here's a fun bit of trivia: Did you know that the Malfoys have only had one single male heir, every generation since they first came to the U.K. from France?" 

"No! Is that true?" 

"Yeah. I did my dissertation on the death of pureblood families in the Western Hemisphere; they're one of about eight families left, and even they've had to mix with second generation purebloods on a couple of occasions. Still, the direct line has always been one single male heir for about a thousand years now." 

"That's...well, improbable. Unfathomable." 

"I just reckon some of them were born girls, and they used Dark Arts in order to turn things a bit inside out." 

"Ha! That's pretty far-fetched." 

"Too many delicate blonds to be one big coincidence, you know? Only so many girl-babies can have their heads dashed on rocks." 

"You're disgusting, honestly; I have no idea why I keep working with you. But...I suppose it's no wonder they're all so cranky. I'd go spare if my gender was switched, too." 

"Yeah. You might even continue a rivalry centuries after the target's passed on." 

"The truth will out one way or another. It always does. Food?" 

"I'll get my coat. Oh, one more thing before I drop the Potter thing..." 

"What?" 

"Don't you think his wife would have been pretty ticked off if this was all true?" 

 

***

_Excerpt from Record No. 2Y_

Harry Potter _(Ed. Note: 'Harry')_ is waiting in the basement of the Ministry of Magic. He appears anxious until Severus Snape _(Ed. Note: 'Snape')_ Disapparates next to him. They are each carrying one black rucksack and both are dressed entirely in black, though only Snape wears traditional wizards' robes. 

"Why are you dressed like that?" Snape asks. 

Distracted, Harry glances down and plucks his t-shirt away from his body. "Oh...I guess I thought it was appropriate for sneaking around. What's your problem anyway? You're dressed in black, too." 

Snape looks away, hiding his amusement. "Yes, but I always dress this way." 

"Shut up," Harry mumbles irritably. "I left you at Hogsmeade ages ago. What took you so long?" Still nervous, he paces in front of a plain black door at the end of what appears to be a long hallway. _(Ed. Note: We believe this is the old location of the now defunct Department of Mysteries. The office was closed in 2020 for various safety violations, the department disbanded in 2040 after it was determined obsolete.)_

Snape tucks his wand away. "We don't all have uncontested security clearance, Potter. Some of us had to devise more complicated methods of appearing in the Ministry of Magic undetected." 

"Well-- all right then," replies Harry, still agitated. He opens the black door, and he and Snape walk into a circular room with fourteen doors. Without looking, Harry casts a charm, marking the entrance door with an orange 'X'. The doors begin to spin around them, and once they stop, Snape and Harry proceed to their right, five doors away from the entrance. 

This room contains a veil at its sunken centre, and stone benches surrounding the veil on the dais. _(Ed. Note: We believe this room was used for public executions from 1623-1905; the portal still remains, though it is no longer available to any Ministry personnel.)_

Harry looks shaken and immediately sits on the ground. "I didn't think this would be so..." He looks up at Snape. "It's difficult being back here. I mean, I haven't been here since--" 

"We can still leave," Snape suggests. "Forget this foolishness, and I'll repay my debt to you in another way." 

For a moment, Harry gazes up and around, taking in their surroundings. He shakes his head vehemently, stands, and brushes off his dark trousers. "I have to," he replies, biting his lower lip. "I've tried to keep going without him, and it's...impossible. And it's unfair...if there's a chance-- I have to. What's first?" 

Snape kneels on the stone floor and his rucksack, removing a jar containing a substance that looks like blue sand. "First, I make a circle. Remove your shirt and kneel several feet away from the veil." 

Harry tugs his shirt over his head and balls it up, throwing it toward the first row of bleachers, then kneels as instructed. Snape breaks the seal on his jar and sprinkles the sand in a very wide circle around Harry, coming close enough to the veil that he pauses, tilting his head toward the tattered material. 

"Can you hear them?" Harry asks. 

Snape nods, and Harry does, too, as though he'd been expecting that answer. In silence, Snape completes his task. 

"That was where your repeated contributions went," Snape tells Harry, nodding at the blue sand. "It shows that your devotion to...the intended...is ongoing." 

"Like a sacrifice," Harry murmurs. 

"It's all a sacrifice. For now, keep kneeling." 

"All right." 

This time, Snape goes to the sack Harry originally held and pulls out a mirror ( _Record No. 13_ ) and a tattered piece of cloth. "Why is this robe so frayed, Potter?" 

For a moment, Harry looks thoughtful or guilty, but he shakes it off and turns his head to look at Snape. "Buckbeak was using it as a blanket. He was reluctant to give it up, but I convinced him that it would be worth it." 

"The Hippogriff had the only clothing that had belonged to Black?" 

Harry faces forward again, staring hard at the veil. "I burnt the rest." 

"Ah." Snape holds up the hem of his robes to hop over the blue sand and into the circle. "We'll need to keep these here the whole time. When we...we do what we must--" 

"When you fuck me?" says Harry, half-smiling. 

Snape grunts. "Yes, that. We must be careful that these objects don't slide away and break the circle." 

"Constant vigilance against objects, then." Harry's voice is laced with laughter. 

"I do so love your jokes, Potter," says Snape dryly. 

Harry doesn't reply, but instead takes the mirror and torn robe, chuckling to himself. He places the robe on the floor with the mirror on top of it, positioning them between himself and the veil. Snape goes back to sifting through his own things, removing two standard-sized vials, a small scrap of parchment, a worn strap of leather, and a paring knife. Snape takes a deep breath and steps back into the circle, yet again careful not to sift the sand. 

"So," says Harry, shifting his weight from one knee to the other, "are we getting started now?" 

"We started this long ago, Potter." Snape's voice has taken on a hard edge that it didn't contain earlier, as he drops one of the phials, the parchment, and strap atop Black's robe. He opens the other phial and sprinkles its contents around the circle, then drops the empty container back down again. "The circle is now sanctified, so we may proceed. Blood first. Turn around and face me." 

Still kneeling, Harry makes a half-circle and faces Snape, lifting his head to face the other man. Snape looms over him, brandishing the knife. Harry holds out his left palm. 

"What's that for?" Snape asks, glancing curiously at Harry's outstretched hand. 

Harry stammers, "Er, bl-- blood. You need it right? Well, slash my palm and smear it around or whatever you need to do!" 

"If you are some sort of masochist, I don't want to know about it. Besides, these things must be done in a precise order, and I can't have you blubbering all over me yet." 

"What the fuck are you _talking_ about?" Harry practically shouts. 

"Cutting your palm will _hurt_ , you dunderhead. I need blood first, then tears, then sweat, then fresh sexual fluid. I will hurt you when it is time to do so!" 

Harry lets out a frustrated snort. "Oh, for Christ's sake, Snape, slice me wherever you want!" 

Snape smirks at that and takes Harry's wrist with his free hand, turning it over, then slowly draws the sharp tip of the knife over Harry's forearm. Harry gasps, and blood wells up from the cut. Still smirking, Snape runs his index and middle fingers over the cut and kneels next to Harry to smear it on Black's robe and mirror. 

"Think very hard about Black," Snape mutters as he straightens up again, "and remove the rest of your clothing." 

Harry scrambles to stand, briefly clapping his right hand over the shallow cut. While he undoes his trousers, Snape unclasps his outer robe, throwing the garment out of the circle and toward the rucksacks. He is wearing only black breeches underneath, and Harry pauses suddenly, nearly toppling over as he tries stepping out of his trousers and pants. 

"You didn't have to do it all at once, Potter," says Snape, bending over to retrieve the parchment and leather strap. Harry, who is now pulling off his second sock, pauses again to stick his tongue out though Snape does not see this because he is staring at the veil. 

"Spirits beyond, we come here today seeking answers, seeking a fallen family member. Sirius Black fell through the veil over three years ago, but his death was not pure." Snape makes a face. "His death was not true, he was not a criminal, and his body was not a shell when he passed to your side. His family asks you to return him. Harry James Potter, his godson, possesses true love for the fallen and asks that you return him. Let the sacrifice we provide link him to Sirius Black and bring him beyond the veil again." Snape lets the parchment flutter to the ground, and draws his wand from his waistband, pointing it toward the dais. The veil is now flapping wildly, and the low howl of wind has begun to move around the room. " _Reditio!_ " he shouts, making a circle with his wand. 

"What's going on?" shouts Harry, trying to be heard over the wind. He is nude and has been pacing back and forth, though he stops just short of the circle's border. 

Snape glances back, seemingly just remembering Harry's presence despite the preceding speech. "It's beginning," he replies. "It's working. On your hands and knees." 

"Why?" Harry is still yelling. 

"If you don't do as I say, when I say it, this will never work!" Snape shouts back, looking angry. "Hands and knees, Potter!" 

Harry drops to all-fours without another word, and Snape tucks his wand away again and circles Harry's body, pausing to push on the back of Harry's neck, forcing his head so low that his face nearly scrapes the stone floor. Snape nods in approval, stands just to Harry's left and draws back the strap, bringing it down hard on Harry's backside. 

"Fuck you!" cries Harry. 

"Soon!" Snape shouts back as he whips Harry again. 

Harry keens and leans his forehead on the backs of his hands. "Oh, God! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" 

Snape pulls back the leather and brings it down several more times _(Ed. Note: Twelve before he stops for a short pause, then starts again for another twelve. We're not sure if there's any significance there, and his notes offer no explanation.)_. Harry's skin quickly turns bright red, and his swearing turns into incoherent babbling, then into incoherent sobbing. 

"Stop!" Harry sobs finally, lifting his head. His face is flushed and tears are rolling down his cheeks. The instant Harry issues the command, Snape throws the strap far out of the circle and quickly drops to Harry's side to swipe at the tears with the same fingers he used to collect the blood. He then wipes the collected tears onto the mirror's surface and the robe. 

"Are you all right?" Snape asks. 

Harry nods and takes a deep breath. He then replies in a monotone, "Sweat and come next?" 

"Yes." 

Harry nods again, pushing up on his palms and revealing that he is now erect. "Do it." 

Snape stands and removes his shoes, stockings, and breeches, leaving him nude as well, and places all of the articles outside of the circle, though he leaves his wand near Harry's feet. He then picks up another of the vials and kneels behind Harry. "Now would be a good time to think of England," he advises, opening the vial in his hand and pouring all of its contents into the palm of his hand. He lays the glass container next to his wand and rubs his hands together. 

Though his face is still tear-streaked, Harry laughs at that. 

"We will need to do this slowly," says Snape, running his fingers down the crevice of Harry's buttocks. Harry shudders as Snape presses one finger inside, slowly moving it in and out of view. "If we don't do this slowly, there may not be enough perspiration accumulated before we both orgasm, and that might nullify everything else we've done. Do you understand?" 

"Y-- yes," stutters Harry. "I'm not an id-- idiot." He moans and pushes back against Snape's hand; Snape inserts a second finger and reaches down to spread the contents of the vial over his own penis, until he is also erect. 

"Remember...you need to concentrate on Black for this to work properly." Snape removes his fingers and positions himself behind Harry's body. One hand spreads Harry apart, while the other circles his erection as he guides himself into Harry's body. 

"Oh. Oh, God," says Harry. He begins to push back, rocking slowly on the stone floor. 

Snape is silent, though his face is screwed up in concentration as he eases himself forward. Once he finds his position satisfactory, he moans once and grasps Harry's hips, snapping his own hips forward once. Harry moans again. 

The two men continue copulating for approximately six minutes in almost complete silence, though it is obvious they are both drawing pleasure from the experience. One of Snape's hands eventually winds its way around to Harry's erection, where he begins to stroke in time with his thrusts. 

Harry groans. "Sn-- Snape, if you keep that up, I'll come too soon," he protests. He continues to thrust back, meeting each of Snape's movements. "G-- god!" 

"Potter, are you sweating?" Snape asks, though his words are punctuated by deep breaths. He is having trouble speaking. 

"Wh...what? Oh, oh, yes! My face is." 

"Good," replies Snape, and it does sound like a relief to him. "Wipe your hand across your face and wipe the sweat onto Black's...oh...Black's effects while you concentrate on what he looked like, what he liked to eat, what his handwriting looked like -- what...whatever you can remember about him." 

"Kind of hard to think with your cock so far up my arse I feel like I'm giving a blowjob!" Harry says, though he shifts his weight to one hand and draws his palm across his brow, collecting sweat, which he then smears on Black's things. The veil begins flapping even more furiously, sending a wind around the room so strong that Harry's and Snape's hair blows in various directions. 

As soon as the wind dies down a bit, Snape begins to thrust in earnest again, Harry moving back to meet his movements over and over. 

Harry groans. "Fuck, that feels good." 

" _Yes_ ," says Snape, who looks mortified as soon as he says it. "We-- we're almost there; it's working. You-- get-- you should try to--" 

"Come all over Sirius's stuff?" 

"Y-- yes, that. Then...then say the incantation I told you earlier." 

"Three times?" 

"F...yes," Snape gasps, his hips now moving extremely fast. The hand wrapped around Harry's erection also speeds up. 

"Oh. Shit, Snape...I'm going to--" Harry exhales hard, rocking very fast as Snape pushes in and out of his body. 

"As am I." Snape moans and looks relieved. 

"God, yes! Don't-- don't stop!" 

"I would not do th--" 

"Fuck! Oh God. _Animus, Animus, Animus!_ " Harry ejaculates, lifting his chest and torso so the semen hits the mirror and robe; Snape lets out a muffled cry as Harry shouts the incantation. As soon as both of their orgasms have passed, Snape pulls out and Harry draws himself to his knees. They stare at the veil. 

All movement has stopped, and Harry looks incredibly disappointed. "No!" he shouts. "It has to have--" 

"Potter, hush," orders Snape, still watching the veil. The whole room begins to shake, the material of the veil flaps over and over again, faster and faster, and Harry grabs onto Snape in an attempt to stay within the circle. Sirius Black's mirror cracks, his robe is torn with an audible noise, and a naked, shivering man with long, dark, matted hair is pushed out of the veil and into the circle. 

"Sirius!" Harry cries, immediately covering the nude man with his own body. "Oh fuck, it worked, it worked, it worked!" He looks up at Snape. " _It worked._ " 

Snape stretches out his hand toward the others, then draws it back quickly. "Indeed." 

 

***

_Record No. 5II - Excerpt from the working journal of Severus Snape_

The ritual appears to have been a success. Using myself as a conduit between the living and the dead, Potter used his blood, tears, sweat, and sexual fluids as attrition to the spirit world; if his grief had not been sincere, I do not believe it would have worked. Perhaps it would have killed us both; I do not know. I do know, however, that Potter is nothing if not sickeningly genuine, and I would not have gambled our success if I hadn't known that to be true. 

As I indicated earlier ( _Records 5M, 5V, 5AA_ ) I thought, perhaps, there was a chance the ritual would have caused Black and I to switch places. It would have been a relief. That turned out to be erroneous. Black and I are both on this plane of existence, and all appears to be well. His health is good, and Potter reports that the bond between them has changed in the way I told him it would. 

Why am I being coy in my own work records? The two are in love, or else they are presented a rather convincing physical substitution for it in my presence. They could not keep their hands off of each other, and it sickened me. 

I cannot stop thinking about it. I cannot _keep_ thinking about it. 

As far as I am concerned, the experiment was a success. My translation and adaptation to the ritual resulted in raising a man from the dead, which is probably as close to attaining godlike status as a Potions master can hope, and my debt to Potter (father and son) has been paid in full. I can forget them and finally live my life the way I've always wanted. 

As far as I am concerned, this experiment has served its purpose and reached its end. 

 

*** _Record No. 6H - Letter written by Harry Potter, addressed to Severus Snape, dated 22 November 1999_

Snape, 

Sirius and I were talking about you last night. I know that has to be the last thing you want to read, but hear me out. As it turns out, both of us have been having dreams about you since September, and they're intense (mine are, at least). I'm not sure what's happening, exactly, but these dreams are...well, they're not exactly the cleanest things I've ever had. I know I was having strange dreams beforehand, but they're becoming more and more vivid as the days go by. 

I tried convincing myself that they were just remnant from the ritual, and I'd very nearly succeeded in that, until Hermione asked me to go with her to unification talks at the French Ministry. I was reluctant to leave Sirius so soon after his return and, as it turns out, with good reason; as soon as I was out of contact with Sirius, we both experienced horrible, powerful dreams -- about each other, about the other with you, about all of us together. And despite the fact they were all about fucking, we both felt completely empty afterward. 

When Sirius and I are together, I don't have that terrible, empty feeling. Have you been experiencing anything unusual? Will you meet with us? 

Sincerely,  
Harry Potter 

 

***

_Excerpt from Record No. 4A, Harry Potter's personal journal. Entry is dated 25 September 1999._

This stupid journal will be the death of me (and, no, the irony isn't lost on me in saying that). I know that Hermione's really into the whole getting your feelings down in writing idea, and that keeping a journal helped her after Ron's death _(Ed. Note: Ronald Bilius Weasley, Harry Potter's friend, murdered sixth months after the death of Lord Voldemort by an escaped follower. His widow, Hermione Granger-Weasley, was pregnant with their first child at the time. She and Weasley married secretly in their last year at Hogwarts; in 2005, Granger wedded Harry Potter.)_ , but I've never been much of a writer. Still, I suppose it's an all right idea to have a record of what's happened to me and what will happen to me, even if I know full well that if someone I didn't know or trust got his hands on it, I'd be stuck with my whole life plastered across the front of _The Daily Prophet_. 

On the other hand, what else is new? At least they'll have the facts right for once. 

I know five days have passed, but it's still hard to accept that Sirius is _back_. I think that people who have known him for a long time will say he's changed, and I suppose he has, since last I checked, he didn't have a lot of interest in sucking my cock before he died. He has assured me that he's always had a general interest in sucking cock, though. Which made me laugh. He makes me laugh a lot. 

Naturally, Hermione is horrified, though she tried covering it up with one of her patented, flustered "Well, if it makes you happy, Harry!" speeches. The baby is getting so big. He looks just like Ron, but I suppose Weasley genes wouldn't be so obviously Weasley genes if they weren't so prominent, right? And this baby is definitely a Weasley. 

Anyway, this isn't about Ron or Hermione, it's about Sirius. He's doing okay, at least he tells me he is, and we touch and talk and laugh a lot. The man is absolutely brilliant with his tongue, but that doesn't surprise me at all. 

Snape gave Sirius a clean bill of health as soon as we got him out of the Ministry and back to Hogwarts, though he warned me to go easy on him for a couple of days. Well, he actually used a lot of words insulting my intelligence, then looked like he was about to assign detention, but that's par for the Snape course. It's funny, but I kind of miss our writing letters back and forth and going to his office to 'make deposits' as he so cleverly put it, but he's done his duty and paid his debts. I bet he's going to hole himself up in some dungeon for the rest of his life, brewing potions and babbling on about wretched children until he dies a greasy, pale mess when he's about two-hundred years old. 

But I'm off-track again. How do I keep doing that when I'm just writing my own thoughts to myself? This is ridiculous. Here's why I'm writing: Yesterday, Sirius and I fucked for the first time. Or rather, I fucked Sirius, and he howled like a bitch in heat. It was _brilliant_ , even though some of the things he said worried me a little. 

I'd had a meeting at Magical Law Enforcement in the afternoon, and Susan Bones and I talked about the history of the Ministry or something while we waited for her aunt to get out of her last meeting. Susan asked me out for a drink after, but I said no because I was just _itching_ to get back to Sirius. It feels like once we're out of contact for even a little while that something's wrong with my skin...it gets all tight and hot and itchy. I predict a lot of games of doctor are in our future, not that I'm complaining about that. 

When I got home, though, Sirius was waiting in the sitting room. There was a fire going (even though the weather didn't exactly call for it), and all of the furniture had been pushed off to the side, except for this giant cushion that Sirius must have transfigured, not that I noticed the cushion much because Sirius was spread across it, absolutely starkers. 

Bit of a shock, that. 

"Oh, hello, Harry," he said, blinking slowly at me like he hadn't been expecting me to appear in the sitting room and find him completely naked. "Care to join me?" 

" _Yes_ ," I replied instantly as I pretty much leapt across the room, shedding my outer robe as I went. Honestly, if he's going to be greeting me like that on a regular basis, I'm going to have to get used to that wizard thing where I only wear old-fashioned pants underneath because clothes are the biggest hassle ever invented. 

My fingers tangled in his hair (and, by the way, I'm glad he decided not to cut it really short) and I tugged his head up, and we kissed for a long, long time. Our faces were pressed so closely together that I was getting beard burn from him, and he'd obviously just shaved, so I can only imagine what state his face is going to be in this morning. Sirius reached up and pulled my glasses from my face, throwing them off somewhere, then pulled away to kiss my jaw, my throat, and stick his tongue in my ear. 

Fuck. My _ear_. I had no fucking clue my ears were so damned sensitive, but when Sirius is licking them, yeah. _Sensitive_. And he was practically fucking my ear with his tongue, his cock pressed against my thigh, and I whimpered like a puppy. 

Of course, the plonker pulled away then, and said, "I thought I was supposed to be the bitch in heat." 

My mind was pretty much gone by this point, so I just whimpered again, shifting on the cushion so our cocks lined up, and Sirius was basically on top of me. I had no idea what he was implying, but I knew I didn't want to lose that warmth and arched up to rub against him again. 

"Uh-uh," said my bastard godfather, pushing on one of my hips. "I'm not letting you waste this --" And here, he moved his hand and squeezed my hard-on, which only got harder, obviously "-- by coming in your pants." 

I moaned and squirmed, but he didn't do anything else, so finally I asked, "So...what do you want?" Okay, so the words might not have been quite that coherent, but that's what I _meant_ to say. 

"I want you to fuck me," Sirius said, and Christ, did he ever sound eager about it. "I want to rip off all of your clothes --" His hand flicked up to my flies, undoing them with one hand -- fuck, but he's talented "-- spread my legs, and fuck myself on this beautiful prick." 

He pulled my cock out and moved so fast that I barely had any idea what was going on when he went down on me. I just went from barely coherent and needy to barely coherent and needy with my cock down Sirius's throat. 

And let me just say? It's completely unfair that anyone gets to be that good at giving head. I doubt he even knows the meaning of the words 'gag reflex'. 

So, he had a hand wrapped around me, almost cupping my balls, and he was just sucking and _sucking_ , and my hands were grabbing at the cushion and my feet were digging into the rug because my body didn't know what to _do_. I was moaning and cursing and ready to start worshipping the God of Sirius's choice when...when. 

Well, he stopped, of course. 

Bastard. 

Not that I really minded because a minute later, my trousers and pants and shoes and socks are off -- though he left my shirt on. I don't know why, since it wasn't a good shirt or anything, just some ratty t-shirt. Maybe all t-shirts remind him of me, or maybe he just likes sliding his hands underneath fabric to torture my nipples. Which he did. And I pretty much begged for it. 

Sirius grinned at me, his wide, doggy grin, and I grinned back, though I probably looked pretty dazed. "Ready for me?" 

"For _years_ ," I answered. 

"I can't wait to feel you inside me," he said. 

Now this, I admit, threw me off a little. I mean, I liked that idea very much, too, but whenever I played this idea over and over (and over and _over_ ) in my mind, I always had Sirius fucking _me_. Maybe because he's older and older blokes always want to assert their authority over me, or maybe because I thought he'd like defiling me, but no, he definitely wanted to ride my cock. When I told him this, he laughed for a really long time, until I started to feel a little silly. 

Not that I was any less hard, but _still_. 

"Stop laughing," I finally said, pouting. 

Sirius wiped at his eyes and straddled my lap, reaching between his legs for my cock. "I'm sorry, Harry," he said, sounding very apologetic, "but how many tops do you know that would transform into big, needy, slobbery dogs?" 

I laughed then, too. "So you're a big nelly bottom?" 

"Essentially," he said, then gasped as he began to sink down on my cock. I admit, I panicked a little, until I realised I was easily pushing my way in, and there was just the initial resistance. Sirius had _prepared himself for me_. He was slick and hot and _tight_ , and I had a very clear mental picture of him spread out on the hearth rug, pushing his slicked-up fingers in and out of his hole. I'm damned lucky I didn't come right away. 

"God," I groaned, knowing the babbling wasn't too far behind. I thought of Quidditch, of Dumbledore, of reciting Potions' ingredients, of anything I could to take my mind off of my godfather -- my scarred, haunted, back from the dead and now bound to me godfather -- slamming down on my throbbing prick. 

It didn't work. 

Sirius fell forward, slamming onto his palms and changing the angle. I was arching up to meet his every thrust and he was groaning, his hair tickling the sides of my neck. It was...well, frankly, it was wonderful. And there was no way I was going to stop from coming before Sirius could, which was all right because I'd get a chance to go down on him. 

My mouth practically watered at the thought, and I started to thrust faster, harder, more, trying to keep my thoughts on terrible things -- Crabbe and Goyle in frilly knickers, the Giant Squid, Umbridge, Snape-- 

_Snape_. Suddenly, the image of me facing the veil while he pounded into me flooded my mind, and I came in three body-shattering spurts. 

"Ohgod," I finally managed to mumble, and Sirius shifted his weight to one side, running his hand along my jaw and dipping his hand underneath the sweat-sticky neck of my shirt (which, by this point, I might as well have taken off because it was practically strangling me). 

"You're beautiful," Sirius said, still rocking indolently, so his erection pressed against my belly. My entire body shivered. "I've always wanted to--" 

"No, you didn't," I whispered harshly, rolling us both so my cock slipped out of his arse, and he was now flat on his back. "It was the ritual; it bound us." I felt guilty confessing. 

Sirius snorted. Then he moaned as I swallowed as much of him as I could. I was determined not to use my hands; let him choke me if he wanted. "I've _always_ wanted," he said, propping himself onto his elbows to watch me. "I've never been good at wanting what's acceptable." 

I wanted to say 'me either,' but my mouth was kind of full, so I just moaned around him, sliding up and down and swirling my tongue around the head with him still in my mouth. 

"Was the ritual supposed to bind me to someone?" he asked, trying to sound casual, though his speech was kind of stilted. 

I nodded, bobbing faster. 

Sirius suddenly grabbed my hair and stilled my movements. " _Harry_ ," he gasped, rising upwards as he came. His come was salty and bitter in my mouth -- and hot, too, but everything about him is. 

Once I swallowed, I kept sucking until he couldn't take it anymore, then released him, so I could rest my head against his thigh. 

"I've always been bound to you," Sirius said. He seemed thoughtful. 

"I know. It's just different now. Not bad," I assured him. "It's what I've always wanted. Always wanted you." 

"Hmm," said Sirius thoughtfully. 

So, that was our first time fucking, which turned into our second and third and fourth times fucking. I've topped every time, and I'm not sure how much I like it. I mean, I love the way he feels around me, but I love getting fucked just as much. 

I suppose I'll get used to it, though. I mean, lots of men -- most men, even -- have never bottomed, and it's not like there's only one thing to do in bed. Besides, it's _Sirius_. I couldn't imagine ever letting him go; we're part of each other now. 

 

***

_Record No. 8A - Letter written by Sirius Black, addressed to Severus Snape, dated 1 October 1999_

Snape, 

If I could think of a better way to do this, I would. Trust me, I'm no happier about this turn of events than you'll be once you read this. If you read this. 

All right -- you've decided to read a bit further. Good for you, Snivelly. See? We can observe niceties. Now that I have your attention: Get the fuck out of my head! 

I don't for one minute resent Harry for bringing me back; he needed me, and if he needed me, then what he did was right. I would move heaven and earth for that kid, though I suppose it was you that really did it. Did him, too, if what he tells me and the dreams I can't stop having are accurate. 

Yeah, that's right. Dreams. Dreams about you fucking my godson -- my Harry. _Mine_ , all right? I know it was what you had to do because Harry told me, and I'm also aware that Harry was about as far from innocent as he could be when you got your greasy mitts on him, but I also know that he's mine, and I will always resent you two having something I could never share. 

What's worse than the dreams I have of you fucking my lover are the dreams I have of you fucking me. Or of Harry in the middle, my cock down his throat, yours pounding into him from behind. Or how I'm writing this and thinking about this, I'm getting fucking _hard_. Hard over _you_ , you slimy git. It's sickening, and no matter how much I try not to think about it, I can't help it. 

Harry told me that you were supposed to be the conduit in the ritual, that your presence would change my love for him into something more than godfather and godson. Did you know I loved him as more than that before I died? Did you know that and do this ritual anyway? 

Did you know I would end up thinking about you, too? 

Write back, you horrible, bony bastard. 

\- Sirius Black 

 

***

"Congratulations, conspiracy theorist." 

"What? Oh...the news, yeah." 

"Isn't it nice to know that your crackpot theories are shared by our crackpot government and media?" 

"Kind of...well, I suppose--" 

"And did you know Julian Malfoy has taken his family and gone on some extended holiday at some Malfoy-exclusive property in the French Riviera?" 

"You mean with his single, male heir?" 

"That'd be the one. So the Golden Boy remains that way -- even though it's been a few hundred years since he resembled anything like a boy." 

"Looks that way. I mean, I know all of the things we saw are pretty damning, but--" 

"Conspiracy Theorist, shut up for a minute. I have a theory for _you_. It seems to me, after watching hours upon hours of Potter's memories and poring through documents addressed to him and from him and to those all around him, that it would take an awful lot of effort to fake all of those -- inferior, magic-tainted genes or not." 

"All right..." 

"Well, what if it wasn't so much that the evidence is fake, but that Potter's life was?" 

"Huh?" 

"Granger was his beard, you git. Actually, they might have been each other's beard. Not that Granger was gay, too, just that she lost her first husband when she was eighteen. _Eighteen_. Maybe she had some great, secret love, but wanted more kids and decided to enlist her friend to help. Or maybe she was always secretly in love with Potter. Or maybe -- and here's what I really think -- is that they decided to help one another." 

"What do you mean?" 

"You know they worked together for Muggle-wizard unification, right? Everyone knows that -- Granger was the brains, Potter the famous diplomat, and they basically...changed the world. They planted seeds for everything we know now." 

"Yeah, I know that, which is why I found all of this gay stuff hard to believe." 

"Listen, mate, all of this 'gay stuff' is still hard for some of us, but did you know that Granger and Potter were crusaders for all sorts of humanitarian causes? Women, racial minorities, werewolves, elves, centaurs..." 

"They must have been busy." 

"Hell right, they were! So, they get married and have two girls, and by all accounts, they were pretty terrific parents, but they stopped at the girls, so it wasn't some sort of male heir crap, either." 

"So, you think they were really good friends who decided to create a cover for each other, so they faced less opposition in their lives, right?" 

"Yeah, just about." 

"But if Potter wanted kids so badly, why didn't he just have one of the blokes he was madly in love with do it? Anybody who could raise the dead could probably figure out how to get a man pregnant." 

"They might not have wanted to. Snape was this surly ex-professor who never really liked children, and Black probably wanted to do...er, whatever it is the disowned male heirs of dying pureblood lines who have broken out of prison for crimes they didn't commit and raised from the dead would do. Probably sleep a lot." 

"Potter saves the world, and these two retire into a life of leisure, then?" 

"Essentially, yeah. And when Potter's home, they fuck. Then, once Potter retires, he joins them, and maybe Granger stays there, too. We just don't know." 

"But you think everything you've seen is real." 

"Yeah, I do. We saw it from _every bloody angle_. Those memories weren't made up; I can't even think of the amount of time, money, and effort that would need to be spent, and for what? A little revenge on a dead man? Besides, I read the diaries, and they lead up to just days before their marriage; there is no way Harry Potter was in love with Hermione Granger." 

 

***

_Record No. 8C - Letter written by Severus Snape, addressed to Sirius Black, dated 23 November 1999_

Black, 

Enough. Call off your dogs -- or, since that may prove impossible in your case, your kept boy. I have received a letter from Potter requesting my presence at your residence, and have decided to take him up on it. 

I take it you haven't told him of our correspondence? In fact it sounds as though before yesterday you hadn't told him anything that has been happening to you at all. And he did the same to you. If I had realized his dreams about me still persisted, perhaps I would have pointed out your blockheadedness to one another earlier. What kind of Gryffindor bravery does it take to tell one's lover that you're both dreaming of your enemy? If I'd known your blasted feelings earlier, before all this began -- better yet, if _Potter_ had known, we could have found a better conduit, or perhaps no conduit at all. Your stupidity pains me, and even so, I cannot refuse your invitation. 

No, the thoughts have not stopped for me, either. 

\- Severus Snape 

 

***

_Excerpt from Record No. 2NN_

Harry Potter ( _Ed Note: 'Harry'_ ) is standing by a fireplace, one hand pressed against the mantel as he peers at the fire. _(Ed. Note: This is believed to be Potter's house in London. Though he owned several properties, this was kept as his official residence until his death. The building was rather large and expensive for its neighbourhood, but not when compared to Potter's wealth. It also became Hermione Granger's official residence after their marriage.)_ Sirius Black _(Ed. Note: 'Black')_ enters, dressed in loose blue jeans. He is shirtless and wears no socks. 

"It's nice to see you've dressed up for our guest," Harry says, glancing at Black. They smile at each other. 

Black walks behind Harry and puts his arms around the other man's waist, reaching up to undo the buttons on Harry's shirt. Harry lets him, leaning back so his head rests against Black's shoulder. "It's only Snivellus. He'll be dressed in his usual hundred flapping black robes, so why should I dress up for him?" 

"He's really been having dreams about us?" 

"Yeah." Black licks Harry's neck; Harry gasps. "Sorry I didn't tell you earlier. If I'd realised-- if I'd known you were having them, too..." 

Harry shushes him. "Sirius. You never have to apologise to me, all right?" 

"We'll see about that." Black bites Harry's neck, making him gasp again. 

"Bad dog." 

The fire blazes green, then flares up and quickly dies down, revealing Severus Snape standing in the Floo. He eyes Black and Harry, then snorts quietly. "I see you've started without me." His tone is neutral. 

"You assume we've ever stopped," Black replies, tightening his grip around Harry's middle. "Like what you see?" His hand slides down Harry's stomach, fingers dipping just inside his waistband. 

Harry rolls his eyes and squirms out of Black's grip. "Hello, Snape. Thanks for...well, not coming, though I assume that'll happen eventually." He smiles. 

Snape rolls his eyes, looking all around the drawing room. "It's good to see your wit is still in tact after all these two months." 

"I try," says Harry lightly. "So, are you definitely bound to us? There's no breaking it?" 

"Believe me, I've tried," says Snape. "I've been researching it since the day after we pulled the cur from the other side --" Black growls softly "-- though your dreams indicate that it probably started earlier than that." 

Black makes a disgusted face, though he steps closer to Snape, almost touching one of his sleeves. "Just because I can't stop thinking about fucking you doesn't mean I like you." 

"Likewise," Snape replies. He turns to Black, and they stare at each other for several seconds. 

Harry clears his throat. "Er, then we'll just have to get used to each other, won't we? Funny thing about lifebonds is their being for life. And since I'd rather neither of you murdered the other in my living room, I think we'll need to put our...lifelong differences aside." 

"Can we fuck a lot?" asks Black brightly. 

"Yes, we can fuck a lot," Harry says. "Right, Snape?" 

Snape sighs. "Yes, fine. Are we going to stand around blathering all night?" 

"Talking is overrated," Black says. He moves, grabbing either side of Snape's face, and pulls the other man to him. Snape makes a surprised noise, which is muffled by Black's mouth. The two kiss noisily, both of their tongues visible, as Snape reaches for Black's waistband, tugging until their bodies are pressed close together. 

Harry watches this for awhile, biting his lower lip. Black and Snape grind together, moaning; eventually, Harry lets out a long moan of his own. The other two men break apart, then look at Harry. 

"Bedroom," says Harry in a strangled voice. "Now." 

Snape laughs, and the other two look at him incredulously. "What?" he asks, nonplussed. "I'm simply unsurprised that Potter would demand more attention be paid to him. Black, should we give him a proper seeing to?" 

"You do know I'm a bottom, right?" 

Snape laughs again. Harry and Black continue to look startled. "Of course, you idiot. As though anyone who turns into a dog wouldn't want to be told what to do. Lead the way, Potter." 

Harry leads Snape and Black into a long corridor and opens the second door on his right. The bedroom is very large and floating candles surround the room. 

"Candles? Are you planning on seducing a woman after you two are through with me?" Snape asks. 

"I _like_ candles," replies Harry petulantly. "They give the room atmosphere. Are you going to take off your clothes, or do we have to rip them off of you?" 

Snape peels off his heavy outer robe, revealing another black robe of lighter material underneath. Once that robe is also off, he uncovers a buttoned tunic and breeches. 

Black, who has already stripped off his jeans and waits on the bed, snorts. "See, Harry? I told you he'd have a thousand layers on." 

"It's like a clown car of clothing," Harry agrees, sitting on the bed to pull off his shoes. He stands again to remove his trousers. 

"What?" ask Snape and Black. 

"Muggle thing." 

Snape finally finishes undressing, leaving a pile of black clothing near his feet. "I'll have you know that my 'thousands of layers' as you call them keep me warm in the cold dungeons." He stands near the bed and crosses his arms over his chest, watching Harry and Black touch each other. They are kissing, and Harry has his hand wrapped around Sirius's erection. 

Harry pulls away to look at Snape; he blinks slowly at the other man, then reaches up to pull his spectacles from his face, placing them on the nightstand. "C'mere," says Harry, beckoning to Snape. Looking reluctant, Snape climbs on the bed, though he's still far-removed from Harry and Black. 

"Good step, Snivellus," Black sneers. "Next, you might touch some actual naked skin!" 

Snape glares. "Fuck you, Black." 

"That's the whole point, isn't it?" 

With a rage-filled noise, Snape's arm shoots out, pulling hard on Black's wrist, so the other man is yanked closer to Snape and away from Harry. He is now kneeling on the mattress. 

"You will listen to me, Black. I know you will push me and push me because you long to be punished, but I am in charge right now, and right now, I want to fuck Potter because I can't stop thinking about how tight your _godson_ is. While I am fucking Potter, he will fuck you and, make no mistake, I will be fucking you through him. Do you understand?" 

Both Black and Harry moan, and Black nods. Snape savagely bites the side of Black's neck, then reaches between his legs to squeeze his testicles. Black whimpers. "Good boy," hisses Snape. "Potter, get your lubricant and roll onto your stomach. Black, you stay right here, and don't do anything until I want you again." 

Black drops his head submissively as Harry digs through a drawer in his side table. Harry hands Snape a jar, then rolls onto his stomach. "I've been dying to get fucked," he moans. 

"I suspected as much," Snape says, opening the jar. "Spread your legs farther apart. Oh. Yes, that's good." 

Harry's legs are spread wide, his head pillowed on his arms, and he is moaning softly. 

Snape grabs Black's hand and forces it into the jar, coating the other man's hand with lubricant. "You will help me give Potter what he wants. I want you to spread him open and fuck him with your fingers, until he is moaning for us both. You do want that, don't you?" 

Black nods and swallows hard, crawling over Harry's leg so he is now kneeling directly in front of Snape. Snape presses his erection against the base of Black's spine. They both watch as Black uses two lubricated fingers to circle Harry's entrance before pushing inside. 

Harry lets out a sharp cry. "Yes," he hisses, drawing out the sibilant end of the word. 

"Very good, Black," Snape whispers against Black's ear as Black's fingers move in and out of Harry's body. "Old dogs can learn new tricks, it seems." 

"Oh God, oh _fuck_ ," Harry shouts. His hips are rocking up, meeting Black's fingers, then down, pressing into the mattress. "Sirius, I want to fuck you. God, I need to be fucked, too...need more inside me." 

"Keep fucking him with your fingers, Black," Snape orders when Black hesitates. He dips his own hand into the lubricant, coating his hand as he reaches around Black's body and wedges two of his own fingers next to Black's, pushing into Harry's body, too. Harry screams again, more raggedly. 

"Feel so _full_ ," Harry says, now rocking faster than he did before. "God, I feel like I'm going to die if someone doesn't touch my cock." He starts to pull one of his hands out from under his head. 

"Stop that, Potter. You'll get what you want soon enough," says Snape. "Though it would be rather funny if sex killed you when so many other methods have been tried." 

Black lets out a sound that might be a laugh or a moan, and Snape presses against him again. 

"Use your free hand to get more lubricant," Snape says, pushing the jar next to Black's leg. They are still pushing in and out of Harry, who is whimpering softly now. Black manages to gets some more lubricating potion on his fingers. "That is for Potter's cock; that is all the preparation you get." 

"Oh God," Black moans. 

"Go ahead and prepare him, so he can fuck you. You may not touch yourself, though Potter can make you come however he likes." 

Black moans again and eases his fingers out of Harry's body. Snape also withdraws, so he can apply lubricating potion to his own erection. He then nudges the backs of Harry's knees. "On your knees, Potter." 

"Knees, right," mumbles Harry, drawing himself up. Immediately, Snape's hand goes around his chest, supporting him, while Black's hand grabs the base of his penis and strokes upward. Snape grabs the base of his own erection and moves forward, easily breaching Harry's entrance. Harry lets out a howl. 

"That's my line," Black whispers with a grin. He licks Harry's sternum, his nipples, his throat, and his lower lip, though he is still pumping his fist. 

Harry looks dazed, then jolts forward as Snape begins to move. "Bend over, Black," Snape orders. "Let Potter fuck you." 

Black hastens to comply, turning around on the bed, and Harry's hands quickly spread him apart and he pushes himself inside with several short, hard bursts, propelled by Snape's movement behind him. 

" _Harry_ ," gasps Black, shoved forward with every thrust, though he is rocking back to meet them. "Oh, fuck me, Snape." 

"He knows your name," Harry laughs, bending so he is now nearly doubled over Black's body. He groans. "Why didn't we do this earlier?" he asks. 

"Because you two are both idiots who do not speak to one another," Snape says, breathing hard. "Potter, for God's sake, if I did not know any better, I'd swear you did something to yourself to make you so f...fucking tight." 

"Severus Snape swears!" Harry laughs again, then moans. "Fuck, you feel good. Sirius, you feel so good. Want me to touch you?" 

Black whines, low in his throat. "Fuck yes, Harry! I'm dying here." 

Harry reaches around Black's body and lets Black thrust into his closed fist. 

"Harry-- God, yes-- right there...fuck. I need to...Snape, you bastard, if you don't let me come..." 

Snape grabs onto Harry's hips hard and thrusts hard enough that Black nearly topples over. "Come, Black. Though I'll remember the bastard remark for next time." 

Black drops his head to the pillows, his moans muffled as he ejaculates all over the bedcovers. Harry quickly releases him, grips Black's sides, then thrusts three times before he is shuddering hard and crying out wordlessly, obviously in the throes of orgasm. 

As soon as Harry stops shouting, Snape reaches up and brutally pulls his hair, tugging Harry's hair back to kiss him hard, moaning against Harry's mouth as his body shakes violently. A moment later, he releases Harry's mouth, and they all collapse in a heap on the bed. 

"That was our first kiss," Harry says, once their breathing has regulated again. "How fucking romantic." 

"You are a sentimental fool, Potter." 

"I know it," he replies, nuzzling against the back of Black's neck. "What do you do for an encore?" 

"Torture Black, of course." 

Black lets out a weak moan. "Welcome to the family, Snivellus." 

 

***

_**New Potter Proof 'Almost Certainly' Hoax** _

_The Prime Minister and Minister for Magic jointly announced yesterday that the highly controversial artefacts found by Julian Malfoy at Number 12 Grimmauld Place in London are almost certainly falsifications._

_Despite researcher reports indicating that the memories show no evidence of tampering, the handwriting samples match other examples of Harry Potter's script, and the mounds of correspondence among Harry Potter, Severus Snape, and Sirius Black, the Ministers and their associates still believe that this is all an elaborate plot to sully the Potter name and reputation. Julian Malfoy has fled the country in the wake of the controversy, though no evidence has been found to link him to any wrongdoing._

_'We believe Potter was very in love with his wife, and the accusations that he was anything less than a fine, upstanding family man are complete rubbish,' said Minister for Magic, Percival Macmillan, from his home. 'The idea he was bound to two men...in_ love _with them...it's all a bit of sensation for sensation's sake, isn't it? He was the Boy-Who-Lived, for goodness sakes! Any persons who believe he could be so deviant are clearly deviants themselves.'_

_Government research funding has been withdrawn, and the historians assigned to the Potter Project were reportedly assigned to other facilities. No one at that office could be reached for comment._

_**London Guardian-Prophet Press Association Correspondent, Bretta Zanzara  
Wednesday 26 June 2335**_

**END**

 


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